A Proper Zanpakuto

Harry lounged among the female zanpakutō spirits, their presence as radiant as the dazzling domain of Ōetsu Nimaiya. The spirits were a mix of amused and exasperated as Harry bantered with them effortlessly, his charm disarming even the most stoic among them.

One spirit blushed as Harry complimented her elegance, while another laughed at his quick wit. They seemed to hover around him, drawn to his aura—an overwhelming mixture of confidence, power, and intrigue.

Ōetsu Nimaiya approached, his swagger unshaken but his tone tinged with curiosity. "Yo, Harry, we've got to figure out what kind of asauchi you're meant for. Can't just hand you any blade."

Harry leaned back, smirking. "Why not all of them at once?"

The spirits froze, their chatter ceasing as they exchanged nervous glances.

Nimaiya raised an eyebrow. "All of them? You sure you're not biting off more than you can chew, bro?"

Harry tilted his head, his emerald eyes flashing. "I'm sure. Even the one that holds that strong hollow." His tone turned nonchalant as he reached into Nimaiya's mind and plucked out the name like a feather from a hat. "Ikomikidomoe, right?"

Nimaiya's jaw dropped, his usual bravado momentarily faltering. "How the hell do you know about that?"

The zanpakutō spirits gasped, and their blushes faded as the gravity of the name sunk in. They protested, their voices a cacophony of concern.

"That hollow is dangerous!"

"It's not meant for anyone to wield!"

"Even a soul like yours—"

Harry raised a hand, his voice calm and commanding. "Relax, ladies. I'll be fine. I'm not just some Shinigami. I'm Death. The literal representation of it. There's no one else like me."

The next day, Ichigo entered the forge first. Nimaiya guided him through the process, and after a grueling ordeal, Ichigo managed to locate his true zanpakutō spirit. A nearly faceless, white figure emerged—Zangetsu.

Nimaiya wasted no time forging the figure into a sword, crafting a blade that finally reflected Ichigo's true essence. The young Substitute Shinigami stood, holding the twin blades of his real zanpakutō for the first time.

"I've been fighting without understanding my powers for so long," Ichigo muttered, awe in his voice. "But this… this feels right."

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "About time, kid. Now step aside. My turn."

Harry stepped into the forge, his aura filling the space with a palpable weight. He turned to Nimaiya, his grin sharp. "Bring them all. Every asauchi you've got, and that hollow blade too. Let's make something extraordinary."

Nimaiya hesitated before nodding. With a snap of his fingers, the forge roared to life. Hundreds—no, thousands—of asauchi materialized, their forms glowing with raw spiritual energy.

Then came the hollow blade. Ikomikidomoe's presence was overwhelming, a dark and monstrous energy that seemed to twist the very air around it.

The asauchi began to fuse, their forms merging into a single entity. The hollow blade joined the process, its energy interweaving with the countless other spirits. The result was a neutral, genderless humanoid figure that radiated an unsettling mix of calm and chaos.

Harry crossed his arms, unimpressed. "That's it? I was expecting more."

The figure's glowing eyes narrowed, its form shifting as it roared in defiance.

The forge became a battlefield as Harry clashed with the fused asauchi. The figure struck with raw power, its blows shattering the ground, but Harry matched its every move with ease.

"Come on," Harry taunted, dodging a swipe and retaliating with a pulse of his own energy. "Is that all you've got? I expected more from a million spirits and a hollow."

The asauchi roared again, its attacks growing more desperate. But Harry remained calm, his movements fluid and precise. After a grueling battle, the figure finally knelt, its energy subdued.

Harry smirked. "Now that's better. Let's finish this."

Nimaiya stepped forward, his hands trembling as he began the forging process. Harry poured his essence into the blade—his godly magic, the Hōgyoku-enhanced Reio-reishi, and the full weight of his spiritual power.

The forge's waters rose to impossible heights, threatening to spill over. But as Harry swung the blade for the first time, the waters vanished, evaporated in an instant.

What remained was a sword of unparalleled beauty, its design a perfect reflection of Harry's essence. Even in its sealed state, it radiated power that seemed to bend reality around it.

Harry held the blade, a satisfied grin on his face. "Now this… this is a weapon."

Harry turned to Nimaiya, who was staring at him with a slack jaw. The zanpakutō spirits were equally stunned, their earlier blushes forgotten as they gazed at the blade in awe.

Harry's grin turned teasing. "What's the matter, Nimaiya? Cat got your tongue? Or are you just mad I turned all your girls into my weapon?"

Nimaiya sputtered, trying to form a response. Ichigo, standing nearby with his twin blades, looked equally dumbfounded.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ichigo muttered.

Harry clapped him on the back, laughing. "Relax, kid. You'll catch up someday."